Filthy Desires: A Romantic Suspense Collection

by Parker, Kylie

  Heading for the bar, I wonder if I should bring her up to Michael and Ray. My brothers are way more experienced in this than I am. I’m positive they’ll be able to guess why she reacted that way.

  Talking about a random chick that freaked out over nothing in a bar full of drunken tourists? Hmmm… Bad idea.

  It’s more than just a bad idea. Hell, it’s stupid, not to mention almost impossible. I can hear loud, beat music from across the street. In fact, it’s loud enough to make the ground vibrate beneath my feet. Besides, Ray chose that place exactly because we could have a few laughs and drink our asses off without discussing anything. He’s still a mess after discovering Laura’s little scheme, and I want him to forget about it. I don’t care if he suggests living in a hole for the next couple of weeks. To me, he and Michael are family. I never turn my back on family, even though my folks turned their backs on me a long time ago.

  The rest of the night gets off to a promising start. We dance around; we mingle with girls from pretty much all over Europe. For more than two hours, we are surrounded by French, Italian, and Dutch chicks. They rub themselves against us, wearing big smiles and sometimes can’t keep their hands to themselves. A French brunette named Chloe pins Michael in the corner, and dares to slide her fingers up his stomach. However, it doesn’t take long for things to go seriously wrong. Her body sways backwards. For a moment, Michael thinks she’s faking it, but once her eyelids slide shut, he thrusts his arms forward to prevent her from dropping to the floor. A quick sweep of the bar tells me that staying in there any longer is in vain. Another redhead staggers across the dance floor, her arms around two men’s shoulders as they lead her to the bathroom. We knew most of these people would be drunk, but this is much worse. They are drunk out of their fucking minds. Disappointment written all over his face, Ray makes his way toward the exit: night over.

  He and Michael leave me alone the following afternoon, deciding to take another trip south. Ray insists on revisiting the beach where he bumped into Laura, not because he wants to see her again, but because “it’s too goddamn beautiful.” I mean to see more of Crete, but before riding out to another resort to the east, I head off to a coffee shop in Ammoudara. I seat myself at the table nearest to the entrance and place my order. A glance up at the red neon sign across the street brings the memory of last night back to my mind.

  “Rodanthi’s

  Traditional Greek Delicacies”

  I had moussaka there two days ago, and I liked it so much that I went back to ask for the recipe. People pay good money here for that dish. If Carlo’s okay with it, I’d like to put it on the menu when I go back home. The elderly owner was kind enough to give me the recipe. People pay good money here for that dish. The elderly owner was kind enough to give me the recipe. Still, the mysterious blonde’s face quickly makes me forget the sweet, Greek woman and her weird accent.

  Fuck it, man. Don’t start speculating. She could have run off for a million reasons. Try focusing on something else.

  Yeah, that’s the answer. Thinking about someone who didn’t even bother giving me her name is pointless. Looking away from the hot barista though, I realize that blocking her out of my mind will have to wait. There she is, smiling, strolling along the catwalk, with a brunette and a redhead on each side. I’ve got my chance, and I’m not going to let it go to waste. I stare up at her, determined to draw her attention. And, within seconds, I get what I want. The moment our eyes meet, her smile is wiped off her face. I stay put, not saying a word. I just curl my index finger. She tells her friends something, but I’m too far to hear what it is. The brunette and the redhead cross the street, and then she makes her way towards me.

  “Good afternoon,” She says, striding into the coffee shop.

  “Well, well, well…” I respond, nodding at the same time. “If it ain’t ‘Ms. Weird.’”

  “Okay, I guess I deserve that,” she admits, pursing her lips as the waitress arrives with my coffee. “Miss, his coffee’s on me.”

  “No way, darling,” I shake my head in denial. “Sit down,” I gesture towards the chair across from me.

  “All right, but you should know I don’t have much time,” she states, pulling the chair out from the table.

  “I only need a minute,” I shrug and fold my arms across my chest. “So, let’s start with your name.”

  “Stacy,” her response is sharp. “Listen, I know I shouldn’t have ditched you like that, but…”

  “But what?” I ask nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders.

  “It’s just that, um…” she pauses and takes a deep breath. “Well, you look a lot like my ex. I realized that when I walked up to you. He used to ride a bike, too. Your hair’s almost the same length as his, only a bit darker. He’s got tattoos too, but he has a whole sleeve,” she continues, throwing a hurried glance down at the scorpion tattoo on my tricep. “Yours are a little unusual, I must say. I mean, two scorpions facing one another?”

  “It didn’t end well with him, did it?” I ask, assuming a bass-deep voice.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Stacy announces, interlocking her fingers over her stomach. “I’ll tell you more about my ex, if you tell me why you got those tattoos.”

  “Fine,” I say on an exhale. “They’re my brothers’ zodiac sign. I don’t believe in that…” I pause. “Astrological shit, but it’s a good way to honor them both. They’re the only family I’ve got. We’re here on vacation together.”

  “Brothers?” she asks, squinting up at me. “I thought you said they were your friends.”

  “They’re a lot more than just friends,” I point out, raising my voice. “It’s a long story, but let me just say I don’t know if I’d still be alive if it wasn’t for them.”

  “Oh,” Stacy gasps in surprise. “Okay, my turn,” she goes on, leaning forward. “I dated Danny for about two years. He used to be a drummer in a rock band called ‘Misfits,’ back in Miami. At some point, they got pretty popular. I was a little worried that one of his groupies might move in on him. He kept reassuring me that it would never happen, because he was loyal to me. About a year ago, I found lipstick marks on the collar of his t-shirt when he returned from a gig. It reeked of cheap perfume, too. That was it. I haven’t dated a guy since.”

  “No wonder you ran like hell last night,” I remark, a bitter smile forming on my face as I unfurl my arms. “You still owe me a drink, though. And I want to collect: tonight.”

  “Okay,” she gives a reluctant nod. “There’s a bar just down the street, called…”

  “Nah, forget about Ammoudara,” I interrupt, annoyance creeping into my tone. “Everybody gets stone-cold drunk around here. By midnight, they’re so drunk that they can’t even walk to the bathroom. I went to “Agia Pelagia” a couple of days ago. It’s a nice little town, about six or seven miles west of here. Trust me; the bars are a lot better over there.”

  “As you wish, so shall it be. Where should we meet?” Stacy asks, rising up from her seat.

  “I can pick you up from your hotel, or we can meet here,” I reply, my tone relaxed. “It’s your call.”

  “I prefer my hotel. Do you know where ‘Dina’s Apartments’ is?” she poses another question.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty close to where I live,” I speak, noticing the brunette and the redhead outside the coffee shop. “How’s nine o’clock?”

  “It’s good,” Stacy says. “I’ll see you later. Bye.”

  As she turns away, I get to scan that curvy body of hers. That girl’s got insane legs, but the best thing about her is her nice, juicy ass. The black leggings she has on highlight it perfectly. She even turns a few heads on her way out of the café and on the street. I don’t know how this night is going to play out, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try to get my hands on that sexy ass.

  13

  Dean

  The chrome on the exhausts of my silver Harley is glimmering under the bright moonlight while I wait for Stacy. I have to admit that her story bothered me. Sh
e’s been mistreated and betrayed, and I know a thing or two about both of those. Normally, I’d have my doubts about its reality. I don’t trust strangers, but I did believe her. She kept a steady tone and maintained eye contact with me the whole time. To me, these were clear indications of her honesty. There was something else that afternoon that I liked about her, other than her looks. She didn’t run away when I invited her over to my table, even though she had the chance. As usual, the streets were buzzing with people. Stacy and her friends could have disappeared into the crowd, but they didn’t. Instead, she chose to stay and explain herself to me. The girl’s got heart; I have to give her that.

  When she crosses the front courtyard of her hotel, I discover that peeping on her legs is out of the question. She wears a tight pair of jeans, a pink tank top, and a denim jacket. I shouldn’t be surprised. We are riding to our destination, not driving. Girls can’t ride bikes in fancy dresses. But, I don’t let this tiny detail ruin my mood. I’m having a date with a gorgeous blonde. If I play my cards right, it’s just a matter of time before I get to see every inch of that sexy body.

  “Hey there,” she offers me a small smile, stepping off the sidewalk. “This bike is gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, too bad it’s a lease,” I mutter under my breath as she swings her leg over the saddle. “Hold on tight.”

  The distinctive sound of the thunder-headers rocks the narrow road as the Harley roars into life. I feel Stacy’s arms wrap around my waist. I kick the bike into gear and turn on the throttle. With the powerful headlight illuminating the distance, I leave the beachside resort behind. Overtaking a blue SUV, I turn right and onto the freeway.

  If the thunder-headers were loud a minute ago, now they are deafening. I’m deaf to pretty much everything else, but I don’t mind. I get a special feeling when the speedometer needle climbs up the dial. It’s a lot more intense at around ninety miles an hour. I feel like the motorcycle and I have somehow merged into one being. Also, I’m under the impression that I’m not on the road anymore, but in it, part of it. I wouldn’t change this rush for the view of the sexiest legs in the world.

  Five minutes into the ride, I feel something may be wrong. The engine is in full power, and yet, we are slowing down. A glance down in the mirror though puts my fears to rest. We’re not on the verge of a breakdown. Stacy has just extended both of her arms to the side, her eyes shut, her head slightly tipped back.

  “Hey, Rose!” I cry out, turning my head left to face her. “Stop doing that! You’re causing a lot of drag!”

  She leans forward, opening her eyes. “My name’s not ‘Rose’!” she yells in my ear.

  “I know!” I shout. “Wasn’t that the name of the chick in ‘Titanic’?”

  “Yeah,” Stacy chuckles, setting her arms back down. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

  I smile back, catching myself liking the moment. It’s strange and unsettling at the same time. In my mind, riding solo is much more exciting than sharing the experience with someone else. The bike is lighter, able to perform to its full potential, and I can bond with it. That’s what riding is all about: attaching to a machine that has heart and soul. For the first time ever, Stacy tears my theory to shreds. In that moment, it’s clear to me that I have found something more than just a date. She’s going to be my playmate for as long as I stay here.

  Later on, we turn into Agia Pelagia, my ears still buzzing. The two bays I pass by are almost completely empty. Everybody’s at the bars that surround them or in taverns up on the hill behind the freeway. I scan the left side of the road, searching for an open air bar. My quest comes to an end once I spot “Blue Cuckoo,” It’s got a wattle over the tables in the front yard, and it’s not as crowded as the neighboring bars. I let the Harley roll to a gentle halt on the right side of the road and turn off the engine. Stacy steps off and stands next to me as I put the bike on the main stand.

  “Cool hair,” I tease her, fixing my gaze on the dozens of strands hanging down either side of her face.

  “Yours isn’t a whole lot better.” She giggles, pushing her hair back from her face. “I liked it, though. It’s been a while since I rode on a bike.”

  “I’m glad you did,” I nod, shuffling off toward the entrance of the bar. “Have you ever owned a motorcycle?”

  “No such luck,” Stacy sighs, pursing her lips. “I can ride, but buying a brand-new bike is just too expensive for me.”

  “Ditto,” I murmur, stealing a glance down at her. “I’m a chef at an Italian restaurant in New York. The cost of a brand new Harley is more or less what I make in a year. That’s why I bought a second hand ‘Seventy-Two.’”

  “You’re a chef?” she asks me, a touch of surprise in her tone as we sit at the table in the corner.

  “Yep,” I affirm. “Why?”

  “It’s just that most bikers I’ve met don’t have a clue about cooking,” Stacy explains, peeling her jacket off her body. “Why did you choose that as a career?”

  I dread this question every time I go out on a date, and this is no exception. It brings back all sorts of crappy memories – memories that I don’t want to share.

  “It’s a long story,” I respond, my voice dark and edged as a young waitress arrives at our table. “Hi. A beer for me.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Stacy tells her and then dismisses her with a smile. “I’m an interior designer,” she informs me, turning her attention back to me. “You look a little upset. Is something wrong?”

  “No,” I assure her, my gaze shooting up to meet hers. “So, how long are you staying here?”

  “Three weeks,” she replies, her big eyes glinting with excitement. “I hope I get to see more of the island. I’ve been here for six days and I’ve only gone as far as Hersonissos. I didn’t like it that much. It’s full of drunken Brits.”

  “We can ride to Chania tomorrow,” I state, my voice returning to its normal range. “I’ve been there once already. It’s great.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Stacy lowers her tone, dragging her gaze away from me.

  “Why not?” I wonder, leaning forward, surprise pitching my voice higher and a little louder.

  “Dean…” she whispers with a sigh. “Please, don’t make me repeat myself. You still remember why I dumped you last night, right?”

  “I do, but what have you got to lose?” I retort. “What’s so bad about taking a ride anyway?”

  “Nothing,” Stacy puts some force in her voice. “But we both know it will be more than just a ride. Look, I think you’re a nice guy. You’re tall, handsome… and you saved my life yesterday; I’ll never forget that. But please; don’t put me in this position. Just looking at you is hard for me.”

  “I can take you back if that’s what you want,” I grumble, furrowing my brow.

  “No,” she rejects my suggestion. “I owe you that beer.”

  “Wow…” I sigh, disappointed by her attitude. In a few sentences, Stacy has destroyed any shred of hope I have of spending the night with her. “Just my luck; I meet a girl that I like and some prick has messed her up.”

  “I’m sorry, Dean,” she whispers once again, her voice cracking as she leans over towards me. “I’m afraid you got the wrong girl.”

  “Well, at least you’ve been in love,” I speak in a deep voice, staring into the void. “That’s got to count for something.”

  “You haven’t?” her tone rises two octaves up as she stares deeply into my eyes.

  “Nope,” I shake my head sideways once. “I never have. I still…” I pause, “haven’t found what I’m looking for, I guess.”

  “How old are you?” Stacy inquires as the waitress sets two bottles of beer down on the table.

  “Twenty-six,” I reply, picking up my drink. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  I am sitting and waiting for some kind of response, but all I get is the same, puzzled look. Only a vintage ballad playing from the restaurant speakers interrupts the silence. The tune is familia
r to me. It’s Aerosmith’s “Crazy” and it’s fading out. Before Stacy speaks to me again, the song that follows gives me one more reason to smile in bitterness. It’s U2’s “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.”

  “There’s a…” she falters, running her hand through her hair. “There’s a Greek word for this situation: irony.”

  “Well, it sucks whatever you call it,” I complain, the rich taste of the beer filling my mouth. “Anyway, I’m out of here.”

  “Dean…”

  “Don’t waste your breath,” I interrupt, my face twisting into a scowl. “Are you coming with or not?”

  “Okay,” Stacy nods, shoving her hand into her purse. Leaving a ten-euro note on the table, she rises up to her feet. I hate getting shot down. It hasn’t happened to me a lot, but whenever it does, it cuts like a knife. In this case, it bums even harder. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just paying for my resemblance with that asshole from her past. Just thinking about it makes me want to smash every chair and table around me. She and I could have had a real good thing going, but she doesn’t leave me much choice.

  14

  Stacy

  Lies, lies and more lies: that’s what I have had to resort to in order to avoid Dean. He does remind me of my ex, but I’m well over that cheating bastard. I’ve already made the mistake of having sex with his “brothers” as he likes to call them. I won’t try and seduce him, too. Staying away from him isn’t easy. He’s a tall, hunky stud that reeks of masculinity. The short ride to the resort he takes me to gives me a sense of freedom I haven’t experienced in quite some time. I was holding on to his firm hips, the wind blowing into my face as his hair whipped against my cheeks. At the same time, taking in his manly scent was giving me all sorts of dirty thoughts. Yet, I had to put them aside, otherwise I would have been in far bigger trouble than I already was.